


Travelled the world and the seven seas

by immoral_crow



Series: Inception Bingo Fills [4]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Foreplay, Inception Bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7640419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immoral_crow/pseuds/immoral_crow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people have a weird idea of what foreplay is, but Arthur... well. Arthur knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Travelled the world and the seven seas

**Author's Note:**

> For the foreplay prompt on my bingo square. THANK YOU TROJIE. I am sorry there is only foreplay and no payoff yet.

Some people have a weird idea of what foreplay is.

Arthur thinks about it sometimes, in the quiet times on jobs when he’s topside and the others are down there, creating dreams, perfecting characters. 

What is it? What’s the trigger that solidifies the nebulous cloud of attraction? Stabilises it into something that you act on?

Cobb would say it’s romance, Arthur’s fairly sure about that. Monochrome shots of beautiful, serious faces looking at him. Actions heavy with motive and meaning. Every movement, every choice having a consequence, everything serious and beautiful and profound. 

Ariadne would be wild, Arthur thinks. Barely tamed potential seeking an outlet. Learning and evolving with each encounter she has. He almost wishes he was willing to risk it – but then Arthur is self aware. He knows the attraction that someone who earnestly wants to learn has for him. He’s self aware, and he learns from experience – and he knows that path leads nowhere good. 

Saito would treat foreplay like a transaction, like he treats so much of the rest of his life. He’s won Arthur’s grudging respect over the space of their working relationship, but he treats personal relationships like a business deal, seeking intimacy in the strangest places instead, preferring to pay for his friends and lovers both, in their own way. 

Yusuf he’s not sure about. Arthur watches him for weeks trying to work it out before he decides that it would be in the sensual chemistry of the chase, in the perfume and the drinks he chose, in the bubbling sauces for meals and the crisp slices of fruit he would slide between his lover’s lips. 

Mal, and oh, how he misses Mal even now, always said that foreplay was a game, and she would wink at him, laughing, and Arthur would top up her wine glass and lose himself in the throaty joy of her laugh. She was always so sure, Arthur thought, but then she found Cobb and lost herself and Arthur doesn’t know what to make of that and he leaves the thought, unsatisfied and aching with a phantom pain he’s not sure will ever really heal. 

In the end, Arthur knows they’re all wrong.

Foreplay is trust, it’s competence. It’s a teasing voice framed by plush lips and endearments that are mockeries – insults that are really endearments. 

Foreplay is a thief who wears his heart on his sleeve and who’s waking up before the others, his mouth quirked into something that might be a smile if you knew him well enough. 

“Arthur?” he asks, and Arthur has to look away, images of Eames spread out on white cotton sheets, sweat-drenched and breaking open under Arthur’s touch, dancing in his mind. 

“We need to improve the timings,” he says, and he’s proud that his voice doesn’t shake. “We won’t have this sort of leeway on the job.” 

There’s the susurrus of sound behind Arthur, the heat of a body pressing close to him for a few long seconds – long enough that Arthur almost turns around. 

He doesn't though, and Eames moves away to a distance that is safer maybe, more comfortable for sure. 

“Of course,” Eames says, and he leans over and looks at Arthur’s notes, picking up a pen to correct an equation, not bothering to hide his intelligence when it’s just the two of them.

Arthur swallows, more turned on than at any point of his last eight sexual encounters and Eames’s eyes snap up at the sound, his eyes tracking the movement of Arthur’s throat. 

“Anything you want?’ he asks, and Arthur shakes his head, envying Eames his control over his voice. “In that case,” Eames says. “I’ll head back down. Get this sorted.” 

He holds Arthur’s gaze for another second then swings himself back onto his chair, reaches for the IV. 

“Hey.” Arthur struggles with the word, but Eames waits, endlessly patient when he has his prey in his sight. 

Arthur kneels down next to him, and Eames hands him the cannula. 

Eames’s breath catches as Arthur pushes the needle home, and Arthur thinks he might say something but the drug is passing through his veins and Arthur watches as his eyes drift closed instead. 

“Sweet dreams,” he says, but Eames is already asleep.


End file.
